


it was almost even comforting, to see a grown man cry

by scarecrowes



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Clothing Kink, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowes/pseuds/scarecrowes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie's known Gyp for years, now. It's nearly gotten familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it was almost even comforting, to see a grown man cry

**Author's Note:**

> pre-s3 spec fic that will most definitely not work after the season starts, buuut for now I have unshattered dreams.

Gyp pushes him down into the mattress and holds him there.

“Like this, Toto?” 

Charlie’s squirming. He’s stripped except for the things Gyp shoved him into - much to his protest, because if he wants to fuck a broad he should go find a  _broad._ But Gyp had grinned and palmed Charlie’s cock and told him no, it ain’t like that, and you want me to fuck you or not? 

Besides, at this point, he’s gotten used to the feeling of nylon, and Gyp keeps snapping the garters against his thighs to make him jump, bumping against Gyp’s cock. 

“I asked you a question, Toto.” 

Charlie fucking hates that name, coming out of Gyp's mouth. He tries not to answer, except Gyp yanks him back by his hair until he’s practically in the man’s lap. 

God, he’s so hard. 

“You gonna answer me?” 

Charlie swallows, and even then his voice comes out hoarse. 

“Yeah.” He wriggles a little, mostly against the belt tying his wrists against his back. “Come on already...” 

Except Gyp doesn’t. He teases, because he’s a fucking greasy dago bastard, and Charlie would tell him so except his mouth’s full of Gyp’s tongue and when it’s not he’s too busy swearing. Rosetti keeps pushing just the head in, so there’s a jolt that rides up his spine and then it’s gone again and he’s going to go  _nuts._

“Gyp - come  _on,_ I can’t keep goin’ just like this...” 

“Then tell me want you want, Toto.” Gyp mumbles against his neck, and Charlie bites his tongue til he tastes blood. 

“...Fuck me already.” It isn’t the hardest thing he’s ever had to say, but it comes close. 

Rosetti leans his head closer, tilting it like he couldn’t hear. 

“Come again?” 

Charlie turns and snarls it. 

 _“Fuck me_ , you stupid prick.” 

It’s punctuated with the snap of his teeth against Gyp’s ear, and then he’s shoved forward again and Gyp smacks the backs of his thighs. 

“That’s it.” Gyp snarls, ugly and angry except that’s what Charlie  _wants,_ fingers knotting in his hair as Gyp spreads his ass and  finally starts to fill him up. 

It’s good - of course it is. It’s why he keeps coming back, despite the twist in his gut over the boundaries Gyp pushes and the red lines that the garters leave in his thighs, at least when he's the one wearing them. Because Gyp pins him to the bed and fucks him until he can’t do anything but moan and cry, broken Sicilian stuttering off his tongue. Because Gyp’s cock is hard and thick and pounds him and he’s wanted to ride it since he was sixteen, when Gyp let him suck him off and sleep on his couch for a week after his old man kicked him out. 

Because Rosetti knows his ugly secret, and can’t tell anyone since he’s in on it too. He’ll remind Charlie every goddamn time, too, make him ask for it, and the only thing that makes them even is that Gyp’s just as bad as he is. That he’s got a funny number of women's underthings sitting around, and so when Gyp calls him a cocksucker he can spit back that at least he’s not a  _girl_ and it’s fine. 

Afterward they don’t touch, and Gyp grins at how he winces at the sticky mess left between his thighs. They’re not friends - not really, but then he isn’t friends with Vito either, and that doesn’t keep them from going drinking on weekends, or cutting him in on card games. 

So he cleans up, leaves the stockings on the bathroom floor and pretends he didn’t purposefully rip them down the sides. Comes back and Gyp pushes a drink into his hands - bad wine, sure, but not as bad as Joe’s. 

“You’re too fuckin’ picky, Charlie boy.” Gyp tells him, grinning lazily, and Charlie throws him a look.

“Then why am I hangin’ out with you?” 

It’s not comfort, but he can sleep here. They’ve got a history. Sometimes that’s enough. 

 


End file.
